That night was freezing.
The thought of her mom's sweet potato bake, her dog Booboo, or her warm blanket that she just washed this morning comforted her a little bit. "You can do it," she said to herself.
Fresh blood was dripping in every holes of her body; everything is painful, even just breathing seems to hurt. How long had it been she walking? Her legs weakened, she didn't have any strength left until she saw a group of people sitting around campfire.
Was she hallucinating?
She could hear someone screamed as her body fell to the ground. Before she closed her eyes, she vowed to herself she would take revenge for anyone who caused her pain.
3 months and 27 stitches later..
She had already reported those fuckers to police but she never knew the process to let them rot in jail was so long. Too long. It was exhausting, physically and mentally, and she honestly was so done with everything.
They said that time heals all wounds, but does it even matter when the scars are still fucking there? It didn't help the fact she couldn't sleep at night without the prescribed pills. The painful memory from that cursing night was still replayed on her mind like a broken record. Again and again.
